Hushed Up! A Mystery of London

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  PROOF POSITIVE

  I was greatly interested, even though I was now filled with suspicion.

  Somehow I had become impressed with the idea that the stranger mighthave been one of the daring and dangerous association, and that he hadrelated that strange story for the purpose of misleading me.

  But the stranger, who had, in the course of our conversation, told methat his name was Pierre Delanne, only said--

  "You could have read it all in the _Matin_, my dear monsieur."

  His attitude was that of a man who knew more than he intended toreveal. Surely it was a curious circumstance, standing there in thenight, listening to the dramatic truth concerning the big-facedAmerican, Harriman, whom I had for so long regarded as an enigma.

  "Tell me, Monsieur Delanne," I said, "for what reason have youfollowed me to London?"

  He laughed as he strode easily along at my side towards the Duke ofYork's steps.

  "Haven't I already told you that I did not purposely follow you?" heexclaimed.

  "Yes, but I don't believe it," was my very frank reply. He hadcertainly explained that, but his manner was not earnest. I could seethat he was only trifling with me, trifling in an easy, good-naturedway.

  "_Bien!_" he said; "and if I followed you, Monsieur Biddulph, I assertthat it is with no sinister intent."

  "How do I know that?" I queried. "You are a stranger."

  "I admit that. But you are not a stranger to me, my dear monsieur."

  "Well, let us come to the point," I said. "What do you want with me?"

  "Nothing," he laughed. "Was it not you yourself who addressed me?"

  "But you followed me!" I cried. "You can't deny that."

  "Monsieur may hold of me whatever opinion he pleases," was Delanne'spolite reply. "I repeat my regrets, and I ask pardon."

  He spoke English remarkably well. But I recollected that theinternational thief--the man who is a cosmopolitan, and who commitstheft in one country to-night, and is across the frontier in themorning--is always a perfect linguist. Harriman was. Though American,with all his nasal intonation and quaint Americanisms, he spokehalf-a-dozen Continental languages quite fluently.

  My bitter experiences of the past caused considerable doubt to arisewithin me. I had had warnings that my mysterious enemies would attackme secretly, by some subtle means. Was this Frenchman one of them?

  He saw that I treated him with some suspicion, but it evidently amusedhim. His face beamed with good-nature.

  At the bottom of the broad flight of stairs which lead up to theUnited Service Club and Pall Mall, I halted.

  "Now look here, Monsieur Delanne," I said, much puzzled and mystifiedby the man's manner and the curious story he had related, "I haveneither desire nor inclination for your company further. Youunderstand?"

  "Ah, monsieur, a thousand pardons," cried the man, raising his hat andbowing with the elegance of the true Parisian. "I have simply spokenthe truth. Did you not put to me questions which I have answered? Youhave said you are engaged to the daughter of my friend Penning-ton.That has interested me."

  "Why?"

  "Because the daughter of my friend Penning-ton always interests me,"was his curious reply.

  "Is that an intended sarcasm?" I asked resentfully.

  "Not in the least, m'sieur," he said quickly. "I have every admirationfor the young lady."

  "Then you know her--eh?"

  "By repute."

  "Why?"

  "Well, her father was connected with one of the strangest and mostextraordinary incidents in my life," he said. "Even to-day, themystery of it all has not been cleared up. I have tried, times withoutnumber, to elucidate it, but have always failed."

  "What part did Sylvia play in the affair, may I ask?"

  "Really," he replied, "I scarcely know. It was so utterlyextraordinary--beyond human credence."

  "Tell me--explain to me," I said, instantly interested. What couldthis man know of my well-beloved?

  He was silent for some minutes. We were still standing by the steps.Surely it was scarcely the place for an exchange of confidences.

  "I fear that monsieur must really excuse me. The matter ispurely a personal one--purely confidential, and concerns myselfalone--just--just as your close acquaintanceship with MademoiselleSylvia concerns you."

  "It seems that it concerns other persons as well, if one may judge bywhat has recently occurred."

  "Ah! Then your enemies have arisen because of your engagement to thegirl--eh?"

  "The girl!" How strange! Pennington's mysterious friends of theBrescia road had referred to her as "the girl." So had those twoassassins in Porchester Terrace! Was it a mere coincidence, or had he,too, betrayed a collusion with those mean blackguards who had put meto that horrible torture?

  Had you met this strange man at night in St. James's Park, would youhave placed any faith in him? I think not. I maintain that I wasperfectly justified in treating him as an enemy. He was rather toointimately acquainted with the doings of Harriman and his gang to suitmy liking. Even as he stood there beneath the light of thestreet-lamp, I saw that his bright eyes twinkled behind those goldpince-nez, while the big old-fashioned amethyst he wore on his fingerwas a conspicuous object. He gave one the appearance of a prosperousmerchant or shopkeeper.

  "What makes you suggest that the attempt was due to my affection forSylvia?" I asked him.

  "Well, it furnishes a motive, does it not?"

  "No, it doesn't. I have no enemies--as far as I am aware."

  "But there exists some person who is highly jealous of mademoiselle,and who is therefore working against you in secret."

  "Is that your opinion?"

  "I regret to admit that it is. Indeed, Monsieur Biddulph, you haveevery need to exercise the greatest care. Otherwise misfortune willoccur to you. Mark what I--a stranger--tell you."

  I started. Here again was a warning uttered! The situation was growingquite uncanny.

  "What makes you expect this?"

  "It is more than mere surmise," he said slowly and in deepearnestness. "I happen to know."

  From that last sentence of his I jumped to the conclusion that he was,after all, one of the malefactors. He was warning me with thedistinct object of putting me off my guard. His next move, no doubt,would be to try and pose as my friend and adviser! I laughed withinmyself, for I was too wary for him.

  "Well," I said, after a few moments' silence, as together we ascendedthe broad flight of steps, with the high column looming in thedarkness, "the fact is, I've become tired of all these warnings.Everybody I meet seems to predict disaster for me. Why, I can't makeout."

  "No one has revealed to you the reason--eh?" he asked in a low,meaning voice.

  "No."

  "Ah! Then, of course, you cannot discern the peril. It is but naturalthat you should treat all well-meant advice lightly. Probably Ishould, _mon cher ami_, if I were in your place."

  "Well," I exclaimed impatiently, halting again, "now, what is it thatyou really know? Don't beat about the bush any longer. Tell me,frankly and openly."

  The man merely raised his shoulders significantly, but made noresponse. In the ray of light which fell upon him, his gold-rimmedspectacles glinted, while his shrewd dark eyes twinkled behind them,as though he delighted in mystifying me.

  "Surely you can reply," I cried in anger. "What is the reason of allthis? What have I done?"

  "Ah! it is what monsieur has not done."

  "Pray explain."

  "Pardon. I cannot explain. Why not ask mademoiselle? She knowseverything."

  "Everything!" I echoed. "Then why does she not tell me?"

  "She fears--most probably."

  Could it be that this strange foreigner was purposely misleading me? Igazed upon his stout, well-dressed figure, and the well-brushed silkhat which he wore with such jaunty air.

  In Pall Mall a string of taxi-cabs was passing westward, conveyinghomeward-bound theatre folk, while across at the brightly-lit entranceof
the Carlton, cabs and taxis were drawing up and depositingwell-dressed people about to sup.

  At the corner of the Athenaeum Club we halted again, for I wanted torid myself of him. I had acted foolishly in addressing him in thefirst instance. For aught I knew, he might be an accomplice of thoseabsconding assassins of Porchester Terrace.

  As we stood there, he had the audacity to produce his cigarette-caseand offer me one. But I resentfully declined it.

  "Ah!" he laughed, stroking his greyish beard again, "I fear, MonsieurBiddulph, that you are displeased with me. I have annoyed you by notsatisfying your natural curiosity. But were I to do so, it would beagainst my own interests. Hence my silence. Am I not perfectly honestwith you?"

  That speech of his corroborated all my suspicions. His motive infollowing me, whatever it could be, was a sinister one. He hadadmitted knowledge of Harriman, the man found guilty and sentencedfor the murder of the young English member of Parliament, RonaldBurke. His intimate acquaintance with Harriman's past and with hisundesirable friends showed that he must have been an associate of thatdaring and dangerous gang.

  I was a diligent reader of the English papers, but had never seen anymention of the great association of expert criminals. His assertionthat the Paris _Matin_ had published all the details was, in allprobability, untrue. I instinctively mistrusted him, because he hadkept such a watchful eye upon me ever since I had sat with Sylvia'sfather in the lounge of that big hotel in Manchester.

  "I don't think you are honest with me, Monsieur Delanne," I saidstiffly. "Therefore I refuse to believe you further."

  "As you wish," laughed my companion. "You will believe me, however,ere long--when you have proof. Depend upon it."

  And he glanced at his watch, closing it quickly with a snap.

  "You see----" he began, but as he uttered the words a taxi, comingfrom the direction of Charing Cross, suddenly pulled up at the kerbwhere we were standing--so suddenly that, for a moment, I did notnotice that it had come to a standstill.

  "Ah!" he exclaimed, when he saw the cab, "I quite forgot! I have anappointment. I will wish you _bon soir_, Monsieur Biddulph. We maymeet again--perhaps." And he raised his hat in farewell.

  As he turned towards the taxi to enter it, I realized that some onewas inside--that the person in the cab had met the strange foreignerby appointment at that corner!

  A man's face peered out for a second, and a voice exclaimed cheerily--

  "Hulloa! Sorry I'm late, old chap!"

  Then, next instant, on seeing me, the face was withdrawn into theshadow.

  Delanne had entered quickly, and, slamming the door, told the man todrive with all speed to Paddington Station.

  The taxi was well on its way down Pall Mall ere I could recover frommy surprise.

  The face of the man in the cab was a countenance the remembrance ofwhich will ever haunt me if I live to be a hundred years--the evil,pimply, dissipated face of Charles Reckitt!

  My surmise had been correct, after all. Delanne was his friend!

  Another conspiracy was afoot against me!